


Smokescreen

by cerpintaxt



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Intercrural Sex, Kink Meme, M/M, Oral Sex, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-21
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-15 08:24:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5778412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cerpintaxt/pseuds/cerpintaxt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A kink meme fill. MacCready learns to accept the Goodneighbor lifestyle, but that doesn't mean he has to like it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfic I have ever written. Those who commented on the kmeme were very nice about it, so I decided to go ahead and crosspost it here. After years of reading fanfic, may as well pay it back, lol.
> 
> Thanks to my wonderful friends for beta-reading this without even having played the game. You guys are amazing and I don't deserve you.
> 
> Here's the link to the original kmeme prompt: http://falloutkinkmeme.livejournal.com/6855.html?thread=16600519#t16600519

Goodneighbor may have been the last friendly place in the Commonwealth, but that didn't mean MacCready had to like it.

He mainly kept to the back of The Third Rail, out of sight of the patrons looking for a good time, but nearby enough for those who needed him. It was a decent place to set up shop, all things considered. The ghouls didn't bother him, the singer was good to look at, and the alcohol was cheap. The best thing, though, was the way no one seemed to give a damn that he was fresh out of the Gunners. 

None of that changed the fact that it was a fucking dump.

MacCready tossed over a few caps to Whitechapel Charlie and grabbed his beer, heading back to his corner for a long and likely dull night. People didn't seek him out often, but it was still the best option he had for the time being, so he sat and took a drink, scanning the bar for any potential clients. One table was occupied by several ghouls popping mentats like candy, another had an amorous couple who looked too drunk to stand, and the rest of the patrons were scattered out, most looking half-asleep or blazed out of their minds. _Fucking dump_ , he thought to himself, wincing before repeating it in his head. _Freaking dump, freaking horrible dump_. He flipped a spare cap around his fingers, waiting for lady luck to drop him a line.

Nothing happened that night, nor the night after, but the night after _that_ someone was stabbed right in front of him, and MacCready was ready to call it quits. He paid his tab at the bar, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and walked briskly up the stairs to escape the unfolding chaos, pushing past the heavy door into the night air. From there, he walked around a corner, sighing when he reached a dark alley and leaning back against the brick wall. He closed his eyes for a moment, groaning as he rubbed his hands over his face. _This fu-_ freaking _place_. He was going to get himself killed here if he wasn't careful.

"Not used to the Goodneighbor lifestyle yet, eh?" A raspy voice sounded next to him and MacCready nearly jumped out of his skin, reaching a hand back for his rifle before he turned to face the source and relaxed. John Hancock. He was surprised the mayor seemed to remember him at all; the man had definitely been blitzed out on something when they'd spoken initially, and MacCready had honestly thought it was the only reason he'd been allowed to stay. He'd heard all sorts of stories since then, about the blood on Hancock's hands, the literal skeletons in his closet. Looking at him now, smiling and obviously stoned, it seemed a bit hard to believe. Hancock grinned at him, taking a drag from the cigarette in his hand before reaching into his coat and pulling out the pack, tapping it against his palm until another came loose, and offering it to MacCready. 

Well, to _heck_ with it. It was already a pretty strange night. 

"Thanks," MacCready said, taking the cigarette and holding it steady while Hancock retrieved a lighter from the same pocket and graciously lit it for him. "A smoke with the mayor, huh? I sure am privileged."

"Damn right. Don't get too used to it," Hancock replied, laughing under his breath. "How's business? Third Rail treatin' you right?" 

"Could be worse," MacCready said honestly. 

"Made any friends?" 

MacCready took a moment to take a long drag from the cigarette before responding. "Not really," he said, letting the smoke billow out of his mouth slowly and finally starting to relax. "No enemies either though. Not yet, anyway."

"That's the ticket," Hancock said, staring at him with a smile, his black eyes unsettling even in the dim lighting. "You keep playin' nice, and I'm sure you'll be a part of the crew in no time." 

"The _crew_? Which crew, exactly?" 

Hancock chuckled, tapping ash off his cigarette. "Any of 'em, really. Handsome guy like you shouldn't have too hard a time finding some good company." He shrugged noncommittally before taking a final drag and dropping the rest to the ground. "Just don't get yourself killed before I have a chance to buy you a drink, alright?" He added, winking as he stepped on the smoldering remains of the cigarette and then turning to leave. "Enjoy the night," he called over his shoulder before turning a corner and disappearing from sight.

"Yeah, you too." MacCready said, a little too late to be heard. He stood in the alleyway a while longer, the still-burning cigarette held loosely between his fingers. Had Hancock been flirting with him? Was he really going to buy him a drink, or had that just been a joke? MacCready frowned for a moment as he considered the best way to let a ghoul down. A dangerous, _important_ ghoul who could easily kick him out of the only relatively friendly spot in the Commonwealth, for that matter. Heaving an exasperated sigh, he finally let his own half-finished cigarette fall to the ground and stomped it out, deciding that he'd deal with the issue when it came up. _If_ it came up.

His throat burned for two days.

\--

A week later, MacCready got his first job at The Third Rail, picking off some troublemakers who'd skipped town. Two days after that he got another client, this one willing to pay more for grittier work. From there, it didn't take too long before he'd become a well-established gun for hire. Patrons at the bar began to nod at him from time to time, and on a few occasions they'd even bought him a drink for his services. With the sudden (though still modest) influx of caps, MacCready no longer feared for his life on a daily basis. Yes, things were certainly beginning to look up. 

And then one night, Hancock was there. It was a rarity to see the mayor of Goodneighbor at The Third Rail, despite the fact that he apparently owned the place - though, within moments it became clear why that was. Many of the bar's patrons were approaching him, sitting beside him at his table and speaking in low tones, too quiet for MacCready to hear from his vantage point in the corner. Some seemed to be very obvious business transactions, and he saw several bags of caps change hands, along with other items here and there. Others looked to be begging, pleading with Hancock, their desperation obvious to MacCready despite him being unable to hear the conversation. Some were rewarded with various chems, others some caps, and some were simply scared off. It should have been obvious with him being mayor and all, but MacCready was nonetheless impressed that Hancock seemed to know everyone on a personal basis. 

This behavior went on for a few hours with breaks in between each visit, and MacCready was steadily getting more and more buzzed, drinking more beers than usual and watching the relaxed line of Hancock's shoulders from behind as he leaned back in his chair, a drink held loosely in his hand. The offer from before suddenly came back to him, and it was hard not to think about the way Hancock had grinned, burnt skin stretching wide as he'd winked at him. It should be the last thing he'd ever want. It _had been_ at the time, but now... Now his eyes raked over Hancock's slender frame, his gnarled fingers around the glass, and he thought of all the rumors he'd heard about his ruthless nature. His murdering spree. Surely, none of it could be true, yet MacCready felt himself being drawn in, his curiosity getting the better of him.

MacCready took another swig from his drink, making his mind up as he stood and walked a bit unsteadily over to Hancock's table, sliding into the empty seat beside him.

"Mayor Hancock," he said, lifting his beer in a mock toast and grinning at the other man's look of surprise.

"Well, well. If it ain't the ex-Gunner himself. I've been hearing your name quite a bit lately," Hancock said, his brows raised. "Apparently you're a pretty reliable guy. Who knew?"

"Not the Gunners, I guess." 

Hancock laughed, taking a swig of his drink and shaking his head. "So, business is good, and it seems like you've been keeping your nose out of trouble. Not the easiest feat around here. I'm impressed." 

"Yeah?" MacCready frowned. He didn't want to ask if Hancock had been keeping tabs on him, though it seemed like a reasonable thing to do as mayor a town like Goodneighbor.

"Oh yeah. Lot of newcomers don't last a week." Hancock responded.

"You been keeping an eye on me, have you?" MacCready said, unable to help his curiosity.

"What can I say? I look out for my own," Hancock replied, grinning as he took another sip of his mysterious drink. "Like it or not, I think the town is starting to warm up to you. Been hearing you're a real _straight shooter_." He chuckled at his own joke, leaning back in his chair and swirling the cup in his hand. MacCready went to take a swig of his own, only to frown when he found it empty.

On stage, Magnolia finished her song and Hancock set down his drink to clap, MacCready rushing to do the same. They said nothing for a long moment, instead watching as she began a new performance, crooning into the microphone and swaying her hips. MacCready contemplated getting another beer, but frowned when he realized he'd have to vacate his coveted seat at the mayor's table. Based on what he'd seen, there was a definite chance he wouldn't be able to get it back again for a while.

"So," Hancock finally said, looking to MacCready once more. "Anything your dear old mayor can do for you? These do seem to be my office hours after all." His words dripped with sarcasm, though his offer seemed genuine. MacCready thought for a moment, turning to regard Hancock in the dim lighting. He wasn't particularly good looking, MacCready thought, but there was definitely something about him. His eyes traced the lines of his radiation burns where they ran down his neck, disappearing under the frilled collar of his shirt, and suddenly he _wanted_ \- something, _anything_ , whatever Hancock was willing to give him. MacCready only realized he'd been leaning toward Hancock when the other man moved in as well, looking as though he was ready to hear some sort of private request, concern evident on his face.

"You could buy me that drink," he whispered, feeling his face flush as nervous tension flooded his system. Hancock's face fell back to some sort of neutral state, his expression unreadable. MacCready licked his lips, pressing forward. "You know, last time we talked, you said you wanted to bu-"

"Oh I remember." Hancock cut him off, his tone oddly cold as he leaned back, taking a long sip from his glass. "I'm just not sure if you need it. Seem pretty drunk as it is."

"I'm not _drunk_." MacCready said, frowning when he realized how petulant he must sound. "I'm buzzed."

Hancock laughed, knocking back the rest of his drink and setting the glass down heavily. "You're drunk. Why else would a smooth skin like you be hitting on a _ghoul_ , huh?" His tone seemed almost sad for a moment, despite the wide grin on his face.

MacCready's mouth opened and closed as he wracked his mind for some kind of response. Why did Hancock have to go and call him out like that? Now he was flustered, embarrassed, and definitely _buzzed_. Before he could say anything, Hancock's hand landed on his shoulder, patting him sympathetically as he stood from the table. 

"Don't worry, you probably won't even remember this in the morning, and I sure as hell won't tell anyone, heh." His laugh was dry, sarcastic, and MacCready desperately wanted to assure him that he had the wrong idea, but now some of the other patrons were looking over and he felt himself locking up, frozen in place. Hancock circled around the table to stand beside him, rooting around in his pockets before dropping a vial of Med-X on the table. "For the hangover. Take it easy, alright?" he said, patting MacCready's shoulder once more and heading for the exit.

The hangover was cured with a glass of purified water, and MacCready spitefully sold the Med-X for some extra caps.

\--

For a while, MacCready sulked. It had been a dismissal, pure and simple. Though, now he could admit that he had been a bit drunk. Probably not as drunk as Hancock had thought he was, but certainly more inebriated than he'd been willing to admit. Yet, even with a sober mind, he still found himself lingering on thoughts of the other man. The _ghoul_ , as it were. He knew the thought of it should disgust him; Hancock didn't even have a nose for God's sake, and who even knew what else he could be missing? There was still something about him, though. It was that confidence, the way he swaggered around like he owned the place. Which, well, he did, but that wasn't the point. It was the charming rasp to his voice, a characteristic shared by all ghouls but still somehow uniquely Hancock. It was the way he carried his thin frame, still lethal despite the extensive radiation damage. Hancock was _dangerous_ , and MacCready couldn't help but be drawn in by that alone, wanting to see firsthand what he was capable of.

It was becoming a distraction, MacCready thought to himself as he ducked under a window, hearing bullets zip through the air above his head. Quickly, he reloaded his rifle with bullets plucked from the bandolier on his thigh, trying his best not to let his mind wander to places it shouldn't.

Killing people and getting caps was the most important thing right now, simple as that. Or at least it should have been, if only the client had been willing to pay him for his services instead of berating him in the back room of The Third Rail. 

"You said to the northwest-" MacCready started, unrolling a dirty map on the table and pointing out the spot. "To the northwest, there would be six guys holed up in a fort, one with power armor, and all of them armed. That's what I found, and that's who I killed." 

"And now I'm saying you got the wrong guys. This shit you brought back sure as hell didn't belong to the group I wanted taken out. They were supposed to have weapon schematics, not this _garbage_." The woman crossed her arms, frowning at him across the table.

"It doesn't matter, alright? You pay me for the kills, not the loot. That was the agreement!" MacCready said, exasperated. "I risked my life doing this sh- _stuff_ , okay? I did the job, you give me the caps, that's how it works."

"You didn't do the _right_ job." The woman answered, rolling her eyes. "I don't pay for slip-ups like this."

MacCready spread his arms out, bracing himself against the table as he seethed, wondering where to go from here. "Alright, you know what? Fine. Let's say I slipped up, despite following your orders to the letter. But, I still killed six guys for you. Isn't that worth something?"

"Not at all," she answered coolly. "Let me know when you get the proper job done and I'll pay you then, and _only_ then." 

MacCready straightened up, glaring at his client for a moment and considering threatening her, before pushing past her into the main area of the bar, where he continued up the stairs and out into the night air. He paced in place for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists as he called her all sorts of names in his head. But- it wasn't just her. It was everything he'd run away from, everything he needed to accomplish, and everything held _just out of_ his reach. It was _fucking_ Goodneighbor, and this _fucking_ dump of a bar that he was stuck in for the foreseeable future.

"God _fucking_ dammit," he breathed out, savoring the rare curse as it rolled off his tongue, though the guilt crept in almost immediately. 

"First time I think I've heard you swear," a familiar voice said from somewhere nearby, and MacCready whipped around, staring at Hancock where he stood lounging against the side of the building, cigarette in hand. He was grinning like a cat who'd got the cream, full of satisfaction, and frustration burned through MacCready's skin. Just another example of the unattainable- something too good for the likes of him.

"Are you _always_ out here?" MacCready asked in disbelief as Hancock laughed.

"Just when I want to get away from my mayoral duties, which is a lot of the time." Hancock admitted, lifting the cigarette to his nearly nonexistent lips and inhaling slowly. "What's got you so riled up?" He asked, blowing out smoke as MacCready stalked toward him.

"I'm completely sober." MacCready said, ignoring Hancock's question as he stared him down. 

"Well, that is a problem, isn't it. Would you like some- hey!" Hancock began to protest as MacCready snatched the cigarette out of his hand, tossing it to the ground. "What the hell," he muttered, right before MacCready reached a hand around his shoulders to press against the back of neck and pushed their mouths together, fierce and frantic. Hancock froze for a moment, standing still as MacCready's lips moved against his, until he tentatively pressed back into him, his hands coming up to smooth over MacCready's chest. Reaching up, he grabbed a hold of his lapels and began pulling him back until they were hidden from sight in an alleyway. _The_ alleyway, MacCready noticed, the one where they'd smoked together all that time ago. Hancock licked against his lips, and his mouth opened in response, groaning as the kiss deepened for a moment before Hancock pulled away.

"This is really what you want, huh?" Hancock exhaled against his mouth, his voice even rougher than usual. The sound sent a shudder through MacCready, and he dropped his hands to drag them over the other man's back, feeling his spine through his threadbare coat.

"You're _damn_ right it is." He groaned, ducking back in to press their mouths together, only to be pushed back violently. He slammed hard against the brick wall, torn between being angry at the harsh treatment and impressed by the other man's hidden strength, until there was a warm body pressed flush against his and he lost his train of thought entirely. Hancock's mouth met his once more, his tongue thrusting forward as his hands fell down to grip his hips, and suddenly MacCready was struggling to keep up. His head was swimming, and he was sure his face was bright red, though he couldn't bring himself to care. Hancock tasted like cigarettes, he noted, nothing terrible like decay or rot despite his appearance. There was another flavor too- _orange_? The mentats, of course. MacCready smirked against his mouth, feeling Hancock's hands push under his frayed coat to grab at his ass. 

A skinny thigh pressed between his own to grind up against him, and MacCready gasped into Hancock's mouth. The friction was good but he needed _more_. He pushed down on the offered leg, his hands gripping Hancock's shoulders as a needy whine escaped his throat.

"How do you want it?" Hancock asked, pulling his mouth away from MacCready's to whisper rough into his ear. 

"I- I don't know," MacCready said, pausing to swallow nervously as Hancock's hands continued to roam over him. "I've never- not with a man."

"Don't worry," Hancock laughed breathlessly. "I'll be gentle."

"I don't _want_ gentle." He kept his eyes on Hancock's, his tone firm to emphasize his words. Gentle was the last thing he wanted. Hancock had been gentle enough as it was, when in truth he was more than that, so much more. MacCready wanted to see the ghoul who'd stabbed a man in front of the weapons shop and let him bleed out in the gutter, the one who'd murdered his way through the last regime and stepped over corpses to get into office. He stood his ground as Hancock narrowed his eyes, his grip tightening against him before letting go.

"Have it your way," Hancock muttered. The thigh between his pulled away, and before he could protest Hancock's hands were spinning him around to face the wall, his body pressing into him from behind and- _shit_ , MacCready could feel how hard he was in his pants. _Well, that's one mystery solved_ , he thought briefly, before Hancock's hands were tugging at his coat, undoing the buttons and pulling it from his shoulders. He arched his back to help, and then those hands moved to his hips, pulling his shirt free from his pants and unhooking the clasp on his belt, letting it fall heavily to the ground. MacCready reached down to undo the fly himself, and Hancock grabbed hold of both his pants and underwear, yanking them down to his upper thighs, just enough to expose him to the cold night air. 

MacCready had a brief moment to be embarrassed as the realization of _where they were_ and _what they were doing_ dawned on him, and he tried to turn around, only to have his upper half pinned against the wall as Hancock leaned against him. A rough, textured hand ran slowly over his exposed hip, sliding back to grip his bare ass. 

"Shouldn't we, you know, go inside?" MacCready asked, glancing down the darkened alley for any signs of movement.

"More private out here," Hancock muttered against the back of his neck, and MacCready wondered briefly if he wanted it public like this, before the hand on his back slid around to press against his cock. He shuddered, bucking forward into the touch- too light- and was rewarded by a firm press of Hancock's hand sliding down his length briefly before he pulled away. 

"What-" MacCready said quietly, before he heard the sound of a belt clinking and fabric rustling behind him, and Hancock returned to press against him, his erection sliding against his ass. The other man groaned softly behind him, rutting shallowly against him for a moment before spitting in his palm and returning the hand to MacCready, fisting the head of his cock and slowly sliding down to the base, wetting the whole length of him. 

"Are you gonna fuck me?" MacCready breathed out, gasping as his hips rocked forward into Hancock's touch. 

"Not this time." Came the reply, Hancock's voice a rough growl, and MacCready had a moment to think about his words- _this time_ \- before the palm around his cock finally began to jerk him in earnest, his thumb flicking over the sensitive head on each pass. MacCready moaned out shamelessly, head falling forward as he thrust into Hancock's grip, the rough texture of his skin proving so much better than the feeling of his own hand. 

Hancock shifted behind him, moving until his length was pressed between MacCready's legs. "Put your thighs together for me, sweetheart." Hancock whispered, and MacCready rushed to comply, bracing a forearm against the wall to keep his balance as Hancock's free hand gripped hard at his hip, his breathing heavy at the new found friction. 

" _Fuck_... That's it. You feel good," Hancock said behind him, thrusting slowly into the tight space between MacCready's legs, the head of his cock brushing his balls with each movement. MacCready moaned in response, his hips rolling back to meet Hancock's, caught between wanting to rock back into him or press forward into his hand. 

"Shit- _shit_ ," he panted, face pressing against his raised forearm.

"Yeah, keep talkin'," Hancock muttered, his free hand sliding up from MacCready's hip, going under his shirt to grab at his waist and trace over his ribs. His hand was cold and rough, and MacCready shuddered at the feeling, wanting so badly to turn around and see Hancock's face. He could feel his hot breath on the back of his neck, the desperate tensing of his hand against his skin. It wasn't _enough_ , goddammit. He wanted to make him lose control, make him take what he wanted. MacCready flexed his thighs tight and heard Hancock's answering moan as he was caught off guard, pressing into him more insistently.

"Harder dammit- _harder_ ," MacCready gasped, rocking back as Hancock pushed forward, the sharp edges of his hipbones hitting him hard enough to bruise. The hand around his cock tightened almost painfully, and MacCready stilled, his breath catching as teeth bit into the back of his neck and a growl sounded behind him. _Fuck yes_ \- the fingers at his hip dug in sharply as Hancock rolled against him, finally losing his composure and letting his instinct drive him.

"God- yeah, like that. _Fuck_ -" MacCready groaned, trying to rock back to match Hancock's rhythm and groaning when the hand on his hip kept him still.

From there, it didn't take long until Hancock's pace sped up, his hips slamming against MacCready's as his hand continued to jerk at his cock. "So good, so _fuckin'_ good," he groaned, continuing to run his teeth along MacCready's neck. "Can't wait to fuck you for real, _MacCready_ ," he breathed out, biting down at the skin beneath his jaw and sucking a dark mark on to him as MacCready gasped, only able to swear in response. "Yeah, you'll love it, won't you? You'll fuckin'- _ahh_ -" His mumbling devolved into panted groans as he fucked into the tightness between MacCready's legs, the hand at his hip still digging tight into his skin. 

Hancock's grip around his length grew slack as he approached his own peak, and MacCready pushed toward his palm desperately, whining low in his throat when he was denied. Finally, Hancock's thrusting slowed as he groaned in pleasure, jerking and spasming between MacCready's legs, his release dripping obscenely down his thighs. 

"Come on, come _on_ ," MacCready whispered, still pushing forward toward Hancock's palm. Suddenly, hands were on his waist, turning him forcefully and pushing his back against the wall, and Hancock's mouth was pressing against his as his hand circled around him again, stroking him slowly. MacCready moaned against his tongue as his hands came up to grab at his shoulders. He was flushed and shivering from the build-up, so _close_ that when Hancock pulled away he nearly punched him. 

"What the _fuck_ ," he groaned, staring at Hancock's blissed-out grin, before the other man was dropping to his knees, his hands lifting to press MacCready's hips flush against the wall as the tight heat of his mouth engulfed his cock. MacCready almost shouted in surprise, raising a hand to cover his mouth at the last moment as he pushed forward into his lips, looking down to where they connected. Hancock's eyes were closed in concentration, his ridiculous hat askew on his head. MacCready had a moment to feel incredulous- _he's still wearing the hat, really?_ \- before the feeling overwhelmed him and he cried out against his hand, back arching off the wall as he spilled into Hancock's mouth. His whole body tensing and trembling, he kept pushing forward as he felt the other man swallow around him, until finally the pleasure faded and he slumped backwards, panting loudly as he let his hand drop to his side. 

Hancock pulled away, reaching into his coat for a handkerchief and wiping at the mess on MacCready's thighs, tossing it aside before he stood. Silently, he reached down to tuck MacCready back into his pants, pulling them over his hips and doing up the fly before fixing himself. MacCready slowly slid down the wall, finally sitting down to catch his breath, and Hancock slumped over next to him, both of them unsure of how to proceed.

After a few minutes in which the only sound was their breathing and the distant raucous of the bar, MacCready heard a shuffling beside him and turned to see Hancock sticking two cigarettes in his mouth, lighting them and puffing out smoke before holding one out for him. He grinned, huffing out a quiet laugh as he accepted the cigarette, lifting it to his lips and taking a slow drag. He could feel Hancock's eyes on him as they smoked in silence, and wracked his brain for something to say.

"So," Hancock began awkwardly, pausing to clear his throat. "My place or yours?"

MacCready laughed, finally turning to face Hancock. "Isn't it a little late to be asking that?" He said, watching with amusement as Hancock shrugged in response. "Depends. Is your place better than the Rexford?" 

"Well, I can offer you a couch." Hancock said, grinning as he reached up to right his hat.

"A _couch_? That's all you've got?" 

"Hey now, it's the _mayor's_ couch. In a _statehouse_. Don't take this offer too lightly." Hancock wagged his cigarette in feigned disapproval.

"Alright, alright. Sure, why the hell not?" MacCready said, getting to his feet and reaching a hand out to help Hancock up as well. 

" _And,_ " Hancock continued, taking hold of MacCready's hand as he pulled himself upright. "Next time, I promise we'll have four walls and a roof around us if we get foolin' around. No more of this alleyway shit. You and me, we're better than that. Sound good?" 

"Sounds great." MacCready said, grinning as he took one final breath of smoke and dropped the cigarette, crushing it with his heel. "Lead the way."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got a few requests for a follow up, so here it is. Once again, bless my wonderful beta readers.

Hancock was gone in the morning. Instead, MacCready woke up to Hancock's bodyguard standing across from him, smoking a cigarette and barely paying him a glance. He sat up slowly, taking the time to rub the sleep from his eyes and trying to pretend he wasn't feeling oddly vulnerable waking up on the _mayor's_ couch with the other man nowhere in sight. Glancing at Fahrenheit's neutral expression, he had to wonder if Hancock had told her what happened, or if perhaps finding the odd person in Hancock's office come morning was a normal occurrence.

He gathered his things silently, pulling his coat over his shoulders and refastening the bandolier on his leg before heading for the door. 

“Hey.” MacCready stopped, turning slowly to see that Fahrenheit really _was_ addressing him, and turned toward her.

“What?” He responded, not trying to mask the annoyance in his voice, though she didn't appear to notice.

“Hancock has a job for you. Taking out some trash.” She said, handing him a sealed envelope, which he quickly tore open, pulling out a letter and scanning it for the details.

“An entire gang all the way up in Somerville? Four hundred caps won't cut it. I want five hundred.”

“Don't push your luck,” Fahrenheit responded, and something in her tone told MacCready that this wasn't up for discussion. “You'll get four hundred, or I'll give the job to someone else.” MacCready let the comment hang in the air for a moment, before finally capitulating.

“Fine,” he huffed out, stuffing the envelope in his pocket and rushing out the door. Was Hancock throwing him a bone just because of last night? Whatever, work was work, and truthfully, four hundred caps was more than MacCready had ever expected to make from a single job. It was more than he usually made in a _month_ , and way too much for such a simple mission. 

He wasn't about to tell Fahrenheit that, though he had a feeling she may have known already. Dropping by his room in the back of the Third Rail, MacCready grabbed his rifle and packed a bag full of ammunition. No time like the present.

\--

The job ended up requiring a stakeout, and it was over a week before MacCready returned to Goodneighbor. The first place he went was the old statehouse- _for the payout_ , and was entirely unsurprised to find Hancock sprawled across his couch on some kind of jet binge. It must have been a dull week. Inhalers littered the surface of the table next to him, and he was twirling one between his fingers in a way which looked far from sober. 

“Hey there,” MacCready said, unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. “This your average Monday or did you just miss me?”

“Hmm?” Hancock looked up, blinking several times before recognition bloomed on his face. “Hey there, MacCready.” He said, grinning. “You miss me?”

MacCready snorted. “I asked you first.”

“You did?”

Heaving a sigh, MacCready dropped his bag, rooting around to find the letter Fahrenheit had given him, and holding it out in offering. Hancock stared at his outstretched hand, making no move to read the letter himself, and MacCready began to get truly frustrated.

“The gang's dead. The one up in Somerville. Remember any of that? You owe me four hundred caps.”

“Ah...” Hancock exhaled slowly, sitting up and dropping the jet in his hand on to the table to mix with the others. “This is business. And here I was hoping it was pleasure.” He huffed out a laugh and reached out, taking the letter from MacCready and scanning over it quickly before dropping it on the couch and standing. 

MacCready felt oddly nervous watching Hancock as he moved to a safe in the corner of the room, spinning the dial and removing four small bags. Smiling, he ambled back over to hand the caps to MacCready, who tucked them into his bag and slung it on his back, standing in place for a moment and hoping Hancock might say something.

“So,” Hancock began, sliding down to sit on the arm of the couch. “I know you're busy now. Got some caps to count. But maybe later...” He paused for a long moment, almost as if forgetting what he'd been saying. MacCready stood before him, tensed with anticipation, his brow furrowed as he waited for Hancock to finish. 

“Later?” He prompted.

“Meet me at the Rexford?” Hancock asked, grinning sheepishly. 

MacCready let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. “Okay,” he said. Hancock reached into his coat to remove a room key and tossed it to him. His aim was off, but MacCready caught it anyway, looking down at the number scrawled on the tag. 

“Meet me at eight, then.” Hancock said, moving over to sprawl on the couch properly, looking more or less how he'd been when MacCready had walked in. “Got some work to do first.”

“Okay,” MacCready repeated. He put the key in a pocket and stood for a moment longer before turning to leave. _Easy as that_ , he thought. _Strictly casual_. 

\--

He needed a fucking beer.

Luckily, good old Whitechapel was always willing to provide, and got him good and boozed up between snarky comments about his bar tab. MacCready hated to admit that he was nervous, even to himself. Hancock was just a bit intimidating, that was all. He was the _mayor of Goodneighbor_ for fuck's sake; probably the last person MacCready should have been messing around with. But it was too late for second guessing now. With a hesitant wave to the bartender, MacCready stood and began the short walk to the Rexford, hoping his worrying hadn't made him too late.

Hancock's room was on the top floor. MacCready unlocked the door with shaky hands, pushing it open before he could overthink it, and stepped into a decently furnished room. It looked, well... It looked pretty trashed, but somehow still better than the room he'd rented when he'd first arrived. It was probably the best room in this dump. _Hancock had rented the best room_. Of course he fucking had.

“Hey,” Hancock chuckled, startling MacCready from his thoughts. He was sitting in an old armchair next to a still-smoking ashtray littered with several cigarette butts. _Shit_ \- how long had he been kept waiting? “Was startin' to think you might not show up.” Hancock said as he stood and crossed the room to MacCready, stopping a few steps away from him. 

_Fuck this_ \- MacCready hadn't come here for half-measures. He moved forward, closing the distance between them and pressing his mouth to Hancock's, moving his lips until the other man opened his mouth with a groan. His hands shot up to grip Hancock's waist, clenching in the worn velvet as their tongues moved together. 

Finally, they pulled apart for air, and Hancock's brows furrowed as he gave MacCready a critical look. “You taste like the whole Third Rail. Got started on the fun without me, huh?”

“Says the guy who was so stoned on jet earlier he could barely stand.”

“Hey, I know my limits.” Hancock grinned.

MacCready took a deep breath, his eyes dropping shut as he willed himself to relax. Something about this whole setup just seemed too intimate for his liking. It spoke of commitment, of _attachment_ , and the possibility that he was in over his head. He frowned, lifting his hands to push the old coat off Hancock's shoulders before he could get too distracted by his own thoughts. Hancock rolled his shoulders back, letting the coat fall to the floor, and MacCready began to fumble with his own clothing. He pulled at his buttons shakily, pulling his own coat off and lifting his hands to push at Hancock's chest, walking him backwards toward the bed. Hancock reached up to pluck the tricorn off his head, tossing it near his coat with a grin. MacCready ignored him, shoving him down on to the old mattress and crawling over him, exhaling heavily as he lowered himself over Hancock's hips. 

“Stop- hold on a second-” Hancock gasped, followed by a small, needy noise, and MacCready pressed forward more insistently, determined to continue before his nerves caught up with him. Suddenly, hands covered his, and he looked up to meet Hancock's concerned look, swallowing heavily.

“You're shakin' like a goddamn leaf, you know that? We're not gonna do this if you don't want to, alright?” He said, pausing for a moment before pushing himself up on his elbows. “I know last time was a bit of a... _fling_. Really, though, I'm happy to leave it at that. Real fuckin' happy. I'm not gonna kick you out of town or anything. Don't worry about upsetting me just because I'm in charge.” 

Wait. _What_? 

“What the hell do you think this is? Some kind of pity lay?”

“I don't know, you tell me.”

MacCready opened his mouth to speak, but then Hancock's face changed, and there it was. That same self-deprecating smile Hancock had worn when he'd turned him down at the bar. _Not this shit again_. MacCready made a noise of frustration, sliding back off Hancock's lap and sitting at the edge of the bed.

“It's not what you think,” MacCready said firmly. “It's got nothing to do with _you_ , okay?” 

“ _'It's not you, it's me?'_ “ Hancock mimed, forcing a bit of laughter.

“Yeah, something like that.” MacCready frowned as Hancock's laughter grew, feeding straight into his frustration. The sound was dry. _Fake_. “Fuck you, I'm serious.” He added, looking away from the other man and taking a deep breath. “I'm just- I'm going through some personal sh- _stuff_ , alright?”

“You woke up one morning and realized you fucked a ghoul?” Hancock stopped laughing, though the grin remained. “Don't worry, it happens to the best of us.”

“You're not even listening to me.” 

“Nothin' I haven't heard before.” Hancock said, sitting up. He was still smiling, though it didn't reach his eyes. It took all of MacCready's willpower not to punch him.

Instead, he stood up and grabbed his coat from the floor, stalking out of the room and slamming the door behind him. He seethed the whole way back to The Third Rail, too caught up in his own head to notice the town's residents giving him a wide berth as he walked. What the fuck did Hancock think he knew? He didn't know _shit_ \- least of all about MacCready. Whatever. He didn't have any desire to try and put a stop to Hancock's pity party. If he wanted to sulk around, throwing quips and bringing everyone down, it was none of MacCready's business. 

Thoughts raced through his head, even as he lay curled in his small cot, trying to ignore the itchy blanket, the slight smell of vomit, and the sound of Hancock's dry laughter in his head. It took him a long time to fall asleep.

\--

A week went by with no sign of Hancock. True to his word, The Third Rail remained as welcoming as it had ever been. No one tried to kick MacCready out, and his rent remained steady. MacCready sent half of the payout from his last job off with Daisy, and continued to take work when he could find it. All in all, things were no better or worse than he could have hoped for.

It was _infuriating_. 

MacCready knew he was probably overreacting, but he had to wonder if Hancock was purposefully avoiding him. Even when he left the bar to walk the town streets, Hancock had been nowhere to be seen. He hadn't even been giving any of his usual speeches, though MacCready had never cared to attend them before. Everyone around him seemed too doped up to notice, but MacCready was wholly annoyed. What the fuck was he doing, abandoning his duties just because of one little incident? It wasn't long before curiosity got the better of him, and he found himself standing in front of the old statehouse without any contingency plans. 

Coming up to the doors, MacCready was unsurprised when security refused to let him in. After trying for several minutes to convince some ghouls with automatics that he had a reason to be there, Fahrenheit emerged from the building. As usual, she looked unimpressed, a cigarette dangling from her hand as she dismissed the other guards to speak to MacCready herself.

“The mayor's busy,” she told him, her tone neutral even as she bored holes into him with her gaze. 

“Bullshit,” MacCready responded, refusing to be intimidated. “What's he doing?”

“That's none of your goddamn business.”

“You're really gonna keep me out? I just want to talk to him!”

“Tough,” she said, taking a drag and blowing smoke in the general direction of MacCready's face. 

“Can you at least deliver a message for me?” He asked, thinking fast.

“I'm not his messenger.”

“Oh yeah, what _are_ you, then?” MacCready snapped.

“I'm the one who kills people who annoy him.” She said, eyes narrowing. MacCready swallowed nervously.

“Fuck _this_.” He groused out, turning and walking away with his hands in his pockets, trying not to think about how pathetic he must look. If she thought this was the end of it, she was off by a long shot. There was nothing MacCready loved more than wiping the smug smile off someone's face. Making up his mind, MacCready headed toward Daisy's Discounts, hoping she wouldn't ask too many questions.

\--

That night, MacCready broke into the old statehouse. 

The first step involved loitering around the entrance to The Third Rail, his recent purchase tucked safely in his coat, and waiting for a good moment. Luckily, this was Goodneighbor, and if anything could be counted on here, it was that it wouldn't take long for the town to show its true colors. Sure enough, after a few minutes a gun shot sounded in the distance, and the neighborhood watch ran off to restore order, their footsteps fading out into the far-away sounds of disorderly conduct. Now was the time. 

MacCready pulled the length of rope from his coat, a sturdy metal hook fastened to one end, and tossed it up toward Hancock's balcony. It fell short, and he cursed under his breath, running to grab the hook where it had fallen and tossing again, this time with more force. There was a dull thump as it hit the wood slats, but it stayed in place, unmoving even as MacCready yanked on the rope to test its strength. It would have to do.

With one last look around, MacCready began hauling himself up to the balcony, using the brick wall for leverage. It wasn't the stupidest thing he'd ever done, but it definitely ranked up there. If the guards had come back and seen him scaling the wall of the statehouse, he probably would have been killed on sight. Goodneighbor's security was, after all, the type to employ the 'shoot first, ask later' standard. Luckily, he reached the top without any incidents. MacCready pulled himself over the side, lifting the rope up and tying it together before setting it on the floor of the balcony. Taking a deep breath, he pushed open the door as quietly as he could, slipping inside.

_Shit_. This was the wrong room.

MacCready squinted in the darkness, trying to make out where he was, though he was sure this was _not_ Hancock's office. It appeared to be some kind of unused space; there was a dilapidated bed frame in one corner, and a dusty old couch in another. _Always with the couches, what the hell_. Staying low, he crept forward and pushed open the door to a familiar circular hallway. Strangely, there was no security in sight, though when MacCready listened he could hear voices talking from down below, telling some kind of lewd story he didn't particularly want to listen in on. From nearby, there was a creak as a guard descended the stairs from the attic, and MacCready moved fast, holding his breath as he crept around the spiral stairs and slipped through the closed door to Hancock's office.

Shutting the door behind himself, MacCready stood up straight and let out his breath slowly, trying to remain quiet. Fortunately, there didn't seem to be anyone here but Hancock, who was asleep on his couch, his body turned away from the doorway. His breathing was slow and steady, his hands tucked beneath a thin pillow under his head. He was still fully clothed apart from his tricorn hat, which sat on the table beside him. For once, the table was oddly free of chems, instead covered in strewn-out documents of various sorts. _Had he actually been busy this whole time?_ Despite the evidence, MacCready still found himself unable to believe it, and moved quietly to Hancock's side, intent on waking him up.

Slowly, he bent over beside the couch and dropped a hand to Hancock's shoulder. Several things happened at once. A rough hand shot up to grab at his wrist, pulling him off balance, and Hancock's other hand appeared from beneath his pillow, a knife held firmly in his fist. What the _fuck_ -? MacCready fell forward, struggling to free himself from Hancock's grip but only succeeding in slamming into his shoulder. He reached out with his other hand, pushing Hancock's arm away before he could _stab him in the fucking face_ , and then they were grappling, MacCready only half on the couch until he finally lost his balance and fell to the floor. Hancock wasted no time, vaulting off the couch and straight onto MacCready's chest with a snarl, his bony knee shoving against his ribs as he pressed the knife hard against his throat. Time stood still for a moment, and MacCready wondered if Hancock might actually kill him, before the other man seemed to slowly come to his senses, his eyes widening in recognition.

“ _MacCready?_ What the fuck?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” MacCready wheezed out. “Let me up- holy _shit_.” Hancock finally moved back, his leg sliding to the side, and MacCready coughed violently, reaching up a hand to rub at his abused throat. 

“The hell are you doing here?” Hancock asked, sounding somewhere between angry and impressed.

“I just wanted to talk. _Fuck_ \- you almost killed me!” 

“You couldn't knock on the door like a decent person?” Hancock said, ignoring his outburst.

“I came in through the balcony,” MacCready admitted with a groan. 

“ _What_?”

“The balcony. You've got-” he broke off to cough again. “-a lot of holes in your security.” MacCready finished, laying back against the floor with a defeated sigh.

Hancock stared down at him in disbelief for a long moment, before he burst into laughter. His hand reached up to drop the knife on the table, and he leaned against the couch as he fought for breath. MacCready watched him, unable to help the grin that spread across his face at the sight. Hancock's weight pressed down on his lap, and MacCready felt his face flush, though whether it was from the pressure or the near-death experience, he couldn't tell. He tried to shift away before Hancock noticed his predicament, the other man luckily too caught up laughing to pay him much attention. A well-timed knock on the door interrupted his struggle. _Security_ \- of course. Hancock stood up, still chuckling as he walked over and cracked the door open. After exchanging a few words with the guard on the other side, he shut the door again, returning to sit on the couch. Wordlessly, Hancock patted the spot beside him until MacCready rose from the floor and sat next to him.

“You're an unpredictable man, I'll give you that much.” Hancock said, laughing under his breath and shaking his head. “Probably took five years off my life.”

“Oh boo-fucking-hoo, you'll only live to be a thousand instead of a-thousand-and-five.” MacCready retorted. Hancock shot him a wry grin before settling into the couch and regarding him with a sympathetic look. 

“Alright, clearly you worked hard to get here and 'talk,' so let's have it. Talk it up,” he said.

“Give me a minute, alright? I had this whole thing planned but then my life flashed before my eyes,” MacCready grumbled.

“I've got all night.” Hancock shot back. MacCready let out a sigh, taking a moment to collect his thoughts.

“You've been pissing me off, and I want an apology.” He said. Hancock raised his brows, but remained silent, so MacCready continued. “I thought we were just having a little fun, right? But then you had to go and make me sound like some kind of asshole, just looking to get in with the mayor or something like that. That's not me.” He leaned forward, settling his elbows on his legs and staring somewhere around Hancock's knees, unwilling to look him in the eyes. “I know I'm a lot of things. A lot of bad things. But I'm not _that_.” He paused, swallowing heavily. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Hancock responded. “Sorry.” 

“That's it?”

“Isn't that all you wanted?” Hancock said, his voice dropping low.

All he wanted. It was a loaded question, and judging by the slight smirk playing at Hancock's mouth, he knew it. _No_ \- he wanted to say, because in truth he wanted so much more than that. He wanted Hancock. Wanted him to do what he'd said he would all that time ago in the alley when he was fucking MacCready's thighs. Wanted him pressed beneath him like he had been in the hotel room, without the hesitations this time. More than anything, he wanted him to just _fucking trust_ him for one goddamn second.

“No,” MacCready finally breathed out, hyper-aware of the sound of Hancock shifting beside him, the persistent ache in his ribs, the sting at his neck. He looked up to meet Hancock's eyes, finding the other man already grinning. “I want you to finish what you _fucking_ started.” 

MacCready barely had a moment to register what what happening before Hancock's mouth was pressed to his, his tongue thrusting forward as his hands ran up MacCready's sides, warm against the thin fabric of his coat. MacCready moaned out, loud and desperate, still worked up from the adrenaline rush he'd experienced earlier, and pushed back into Hancock's touch eagerly. It wasn't the easiest position, but this had been put off far too long, and he didn't care enough to stop in order to move somewhere more comfortable. Reaching up, MacCready grabbed at Hancock's neck, feeling the odd texture of his skin as he held him firmly in place, his tongue pushing back to lick heavily into his mouth. 

Hancock's hands moved to his chest, shoving him back against the arm of the couch, and MacCready twisted to accommodate the new position, watching as Hancock sat back to pull off his coat. _Holy shit_ , they were really doing this. MacCready rushed to catch up, reaching down to pull his boots off as Hancock untied the sash at his hips and shrugged out of his vest. As MacCready went to unfasten his belt, Hancock pulled his loose shirt over his head, and he stopped to stare, breath catching in his throat. Even in the dark room it was clear that his torso was burnt and pockmarked, skin stretched grotesquely in some places, torn and hardened in others. Mostly, though, MacCready was struck by how _small_ he was without all of his layers. He looked oddly vulnerable. Hancock caught him staring, and grinned widely as he leaned forward to undo MacCready's belt himself, dropping it to the floor. MacCready reached up to pull Hancock down into another kiss, and the moment passed.

Their hands worked in tandem to undress MacCready, and Hancock moaned into his mouth once his hands met naked skin, sliding over the firm planes of MacCready's chest, so smooth in comparison to his rough palms. MacCready shuddered, and obligingly lifted his hips as Hancock pulled at his pants, sliding them down and yanking them off his feet. His hand traced up MacCready's leg, pressing firmly against the obvious bulge in his underwear, and MacCready hissed and bucked up into his touch, groaning when Hancock pulled away to slide the final garment down his legs, tossing it on to the pile on the floor. 

MacCready panted, watching with interest as Hancock worked open the buttons on his own pants, pushing them past his narrow hips just enough to free his length, and dropped down to press their cocks together. 

“ _Shit_ -” He gasped out, not fully expecting the feeling of Hancock's rough skin against his own, a feeling which only grew more intense as Hancock's hand wrapped around both of them, stroking them together. The press of his hand was firm, far from teasing, and MacCready pushed forward, a choked noise escaping his throat at the strange texture. He'd almost forgotten how _good_ it was, and judging by Hancock's smug grin, he knew it.

Hancock's hips rolled against his languidly, his eyes focused on MacCready's face even as he worked his hand against them. MacCready moaned at a particularly rough thrust, raising one of his knees to brace his foot against the couch and using the leverage to rock up against Hancock's hand. The other man hummed in pleasure, his thumb swiping over the head of MacCready's cock and spreading the moisture he found there. 

“So,” Hancock panted, clearly trying to sound unaffected and failing. “Still want me to fuck you?” 

“ _Yes_ ,” MacCready hissed, his cock twitching just from the thought. 

“Tell me,” Hancock said, his grin visible even in the dark room.

“What?”

“Tell me you want it,” Hancock's grip tightened for a moment, and MacCready jolted beneath him.

“ _Fuck_ \- I want it.” MacCready responded, voice strained.

“What do you want?” Hancock asked. MacCready glared up at him.

“I want you to fuck me,” MacCready said after a moment of silence. “ _Please_.” He added as an afterthought. Hancock's grin widened, and he moved his free hand to brace against the couch as he leaned down toward MacCready's face. 

“You can do better than that.” He muttered, dragging the tips of his fingers lightly over MacCready's cock, watching as he shuddered at the attention.

“Hancock,” MacCready groaned, his eyes slipping shut. “Shut up and _fuck me_.”

Hancock laughed under his breath, pulling away from MacCready and leaning over the side of the couch to dig in the pile of junk around the table until he came back with a small vial, pouring some on his fingers. 

“Gun oil,” he said in response to MacCready's questioning look. 

“Is that safe?”

“Won't kill you.” Hancock grinned, re-situating himself to sit between MacCready's spread thighs. Slowly, he trailed his wet fingers up one of MacCready's legs, watching his face carefully as he reached the apex, sliding his fingers down to rub over the ring of muscle there. MacCready stared back silently, spreading his thighs further as Hancock began to apply pressure, pushing one finger slowly into him. 

“Damn,” MacCready breathed out. “That's a weird feeling.” 

“It'll get better,” Hancock promised, moving his finger in and out in a steady rhythm before carefully adding another. MacCready winced, his body locking up reflexively. “Relax,” Hancock whispered, his other hand rubbing circles at MacCready's hipbone until he relented, breathing slowly as his body loosened. Hancock patted at his hip in approval, pushing his fingers further in and waiting for a moment to let the other man get used to the sensation before he crooked them, searching around until-

“-Ngh!” MacCready groaned loudly, his hips jutting up from the couch as he chased the feeling. Hancock's grip tightened on his hip, holding him steady as MacCready stared at him, eyes wide. 

“-the fuck?” MacCready panted.

“Found it,” Hancock smirked, pressing his fingers back into MacCready's prostate and watching in amusement as he squirmed, trying to restrain himself from an outburst. 

“Shit- _Hancock_ , oh _God_.” MacCready moaned, clapping a hand over his face as his other reached for his neglected cock. Hancock batted it away, smiling when he caused another distressed moan.

Quickly, he added a third finger, thrusting his hand forward several times until MacCready seemed sufficiently stretched. His other hand reached for the vial, almost knocking it over in his haste, and he pulled his fingers out to coat them once more, this time moving his hand to his cock. He stroked himself quickly and thoroughly before moving his hips forward, the head of his length pressing against MacCready's entrance.

“Ready?” Hancock asked, staring down at MacCready's flushed face, still partially covered by his hand. MacCready nodded quickly, eyes clenched shut, and Hancock began to push in, groaning as he was slowly enveloped in the heat of MacCready's body. MacCready tensed beneath him, and he stilled, rubbing at his hip again in a silent reminder until he gradually relaxed. Hancock hummed in pleasure as his hips rolled forward, pushing in a little further with each shallow thrust. Beneath him, MacCready panted, his hands gripping the couch cushions.

“Doing alright there, sweetheart?” Hancock whispered, his voice rough even to his own ears. MacCready nodded again, his jaw clenching as Hancock's hips finally came to a rest against his own, fully seated inside him. It still felt _odd_ \- not bad, but certainly uncomfortable. They sat still for a long moment, Hancock's hands rubbing at his hips, until MacCready began to grow impatient.

“Go,” he panted. “ _Move_.” Hancock grinned, rutting shallowly against him a few times before pulling out almost entirely and slamming back in. MacCready made a choked noise, his thighs tightening around Hancock's hips. Hancock continued to push into him, his hands smoothing down his legs and lifting them higher to clench around his waist instead, allowing him more movement. 

" _Fuck_ \- MacCready," Hancock sighed, keeping his rhythm steady and slower than he would have preferred. Below him, MacCready was breathing heavily, his face red and his cock still hard and flushed against his stomach. As Hancock watched, his eyes cracked open, glancing up at him with furrowed brows.

"You're too- goddamn- _gentle_." MacCready said between breaths. "Fuck me like you _mean it_ \- shit." 

Hancock's smile didn't falter. He leaned down, moving his arms to either side of MacCready's chest, caging him in. The new position had MacCready's hips raised at an odd angle, his body bent uncomfortably, and he raised his arms to Hancock's chest, intending to push him back, when-

"Oh _shit_ -" MacCready gasped out as Hancock thrust hard into him, hitting that spot that sent a jolt up his spine. Hancock grinned wider, his head dropping to bite playfully at MacCready's chest as he did it again, and MacCready moaned shamelessly, his hands moving around to Hancock's back, nails digging into his hardened flesh. 

"Yeah, you like it _rough_ , don't you?" Hancock said against his neck, and MacCready grit his teeth, not wanting to rise to his taunting. Still, his actions spoke for him, his hips pressing back greedily into Hancock's thrusts, cock leaking on to his abdomen. He dragged his nails across Hancock's back, gratified when he heard the other man hiss from pain, the next push of his hips so hard that MacCready slid several inches up the couch. 

Hancock's thrusts grew more forceful, his pace quickening. MacCready gasped out at the rough treatment, turning his head toward the couch cushions in an effort to hide his reddened face. It only served to expose his neck, which Hancock set upon immediately, biting at him and sucking dark marks into his skin. Finally, Hancock switched his weight to one hand, the other moving back to grasp his length, the firm drag of his fingers making MacCready's back arch off the couch as he pushed into his touch. The position was awkward, and Hancock pulled back, the motion of his hips coming to a halt as he rearranged MacCready, turning him sideways and straddling one of his legs as he pulled the other over his shoulder. 

"Don't stop, _what_ -" MacCready started to groan, his voice leaving him in a rush as Hancock resumed fucking him, slamming into him hard and fast. The new angle wasn't as good as the last, but it hardly mattered to him right now- so close to coming that when Hancock's hand wrapped around him again he jerked in his grasp, writhing hard against the couch. 

"Hancock- _fuck_ , I'm gonna-" MacCready whined, his voice breaking off into a shuddered moan as he was finally pushed over the edge. He rocked back mindlessly against Hancock's hips, grabbing desperately at the couch as he spilled into the other man's hand, his whole body shuddering. Hancock kept fucking him throughout, panting out obscenities as MacCready tightened around him, doing his best to catch his release before it spread over the couch. 

MacCready breathed out slowly as the pleasure finally faded, his body still jerking from the aftershocks. He panted helplessly as Hancock kept driving into him, chasing his own release with abandon. Using the last of his strength, MacCready clenched around him, his leg flexing over Hancock's shoulder, and Hancock cried out in surprise. His thrusts became fast and shallow, rutting erratically against MacCready as he finally shuddered, spilling into him with a drawn-out groan.

For a moment they stayed still, panting in exertion, and then MacCready felt his leg being lifted from Hancock's shoulder and set down gently. Before he could process what was happening, rough hands rolled him on to his back and Hancock's weight slumped on to his chest. MacCready grunted, unwilling to move despite the discomfort. Hancock's breath was hot against his skin, and MacCready could feel his heart pounding through their proximity. It was oddly pleasant. Intimate, but somehow not frightening. Comfortable.

Eventually, the sensation of skin-on-skin coupled with drying sweat became too much to bear, and MacCready began pushing lightly at Hancock's shoulders until the other man acquiesced, pushing himself up on shaking arms and pulling away. MacCready winced as Hancock's length slipped out of him, feeling liquid leak out, and _sore_ in a way he didn't want to think about too much. 

"Wow," Hancock breathed out, and MacCready grunted in assent. "D'you want a cigarette? Or straight to sleep?" 

"I want a cigarette." MacCready said, his voice rough. 

MacCready sighed heavily, listening to the distant sound of Hancock moving around the room. After a moment in which he began to drift off, one of MacCready's thighs was lifted, and a wet cloth wiped between his legs. He was too exhausted to be embarrassed, letting Hancock move him around without complaint. He continued to watch with some measure of interest as Hancock attempted to scrub at the wet spot by his hips before giving up and tossing the towel on the floor. The couch shifted as Hancock leaned back against the cushions, and then MacCready heard the flick of a lighter, the soft glow of the flame searingly bright in the otherwise dark room. After a beat, Hancock leaned forward and stuck one of the cigarettes into MacCready's mouth, placing it securely between his grinning lips. 

They smoked in companionable silence. Outside of the room, the floorboards creaked as one of the guards made the rounds, and MacCready wondered absently how fast gossip spread in Goodneighbor. Also, if he should be gone before the morning in order to preserve Hancock's image, or something like that. Surely, the sound of their activities wouldn't have gone unnoticed. What was the protocol for these sorts of things?

"Not thinking of skipping out on me, are you?" Hancock asked, as if he could see the gears turning in MacCready's head. MacCready smiled.

"Nah," he said. "As long as you don't mind the rumors."

"Even the mayor's gotta get laid sometimes, you know."

"Is that how you're gonna explain your absence to the people?" MacCready laughed.

"Hey, I was _busy_."

"Moping?"

"Oh fuck you," Hancock said, though his words held no real ire. "The hell you know about being a mayor, anyway?"

"More than you might think," MacCready took one last drag of his cigarette, smiling at the thought. Hancock held out an ashtray for him, and he met his eyes as he stubbed out the embers. Hancock's face held a myriad of emotions, and MacCready was surprised that he hadn't been able to see it before. He looked content, _happy_ even, and a bit curious, though he didn't seem to want to press MacCready on the matter now. 

"Stay here," Hancock muttered. "Don't go just yet." 

"Alright." He breathed out.

MacCready shifted, moving over and allowing Hancock to squeeze in next to him. It was a tight fit, but they were both relatively slim. Somehow it worked. 

Hancock's arm reached over him, grabbing blindly around the table until he found what he was looking for, pulling a threadbare blanket from the floor and tossing it over them. _Fahrenheit will come in here in the morning,_ MacCready thought. _Or if not her, then one of the guards._ It would be obvious what had happened, of course. Their clothes were still strewn on the floor, and they were tucked together on the couch. The _stained_ couch. Yet, despite all of that, MacCready couldn't bring himself to care. It was a problem for later, he decided. Later, or not at all.

Hancock made a soft sound next to him as he settled in, his arm still thrown over his chest, and MacCready grinned. Maybe he was starting to warm up to the Goodneighbor lifestyle after all.


End file.
